Man in the Grey Suit
by Kaitlyn Fall
Summary: The beginning of an action/mystery written in the style of Charles Dickens. A one-off writing exercise, will not be finished. Serena/Darien


After reading Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens, I figured I'd try my hand at such a different style of writing. This is just a drabble of sorts, but it was a killer to write. I had to sit in a little coffee shop in Melbourne with a dictionary and thesaurus. The language is ridiculous – the first sentence of this story would be so much easier to understand if it just said _"It rained on people, which was funny"_.

This is just a one-off thing, and I won't be writing any more because I'm exhausted just thinking about it ;p Although I _do_ like the storyline, so maybe I'll continue with it in the normal way one day.

Good luck trying to get through it. :x

* * *

**The Man in the Grey Suit**

The heavens opening in a most undesirable fashion was the cause of much vexation and inconvenience for the people on the street, and the scene of the frantic city for an omnipotent viewer would have been most enjoyable. Storm drains struggled to keep up with the sudden floods, while cars immersed in water pulled over to ride the shower by safely. Most pedestrians in the battering open hurried into the nearest store, shedding their coats and sighing in relief as the cosy environment accommodated their needs.

In one such shop was already seated a rather unremarkable, grey-suited gentleman – unremarkable in appearance and manner, certainly, and barely noticeable in a crowded coffee shop. The man looked quite at ease as customers poured in, paying the sudden surge no attention whatsoever. Instead, his tapered fingers longingly stroked his silver cigarette case, and a sigh escaped his lips.

'Long gone are the days when one could indulge in the mortal pleasures of life,' he murmured to the man opposite him, his midnight eyes lingering momentarily on a no-smoking sign plastered on the wall.

'Hmm, well, my good man, I find it much safer to enjoy your presence in a public place,' replied his companion, a large gentleman with a thick Russian accent.

This particular man was in the process of demolishing a chocolate éclair, and made an amusing character to watch as most of the custard ended up on his bushy moustache.

'Now, Mr Shields, are we in agreement? The proposed employment will take no more than a few weeks; less, if you are any good at what you do.'

Mr Shields regarded the round gentlemen with certain amusement, his fingers still playing with the silver case. 'You are obviously new to the job, Mr Bartov,' he said, his silky voice reaching nobody's ears except those at the table.

'Well yes,' Mr Bartov replied, polishing his plate with the last of the éclair and sucking on his sausage fingers. 'Our division has had a massive upheaval in the last few months, only Mr Hemeich remains –'

What more the corpulent man said was lost on Mr Shields' ears as his gaze fixed upon a young woman at the front of the shop. He had lived through too many years and seen too many people to take notice of strangers in the present day, but there was something in the expression of the girl's face to make him pay attention. She could be no more than twenty-three, and, despite the peculiar meatballs on the top of her head, was rather ordinary. Yet Mr Shields was intrigued.

Through the crowd, a brunette waitress squeezed her way to the meatball head's table and set a coffee cup down. The meatball head looked up, catching Mr Barker's fixed stare for just a moment before a look of horror crossed her face and she turned to the door.

Within that split second, three men sporting ski masks burst into the shop, and all hell broke loose.

x x x

The meatball head in question was one Serena Tsukino, who had been fortunate enough to enter the shop well before the downpour and therefore could watch the hasty panic on the street from her small place by the window. The shop was warm enough to fog the glass, and Serena soon lost interest in the pandemonium as she grew tired of wiping her view.

Instead she ordered a coffee from a harried-looking waitress and sat back to relax in the atmosphere. 'Relax' was a pastime Serena no longer had the pleasure of knowing, having been acquainted to the real – and very cruel – working world, and was indulging in a rare moment of inactivity. Lunch breaks for sales assistants were never long enough, especially when they worked for Madam Melicia's Mystic Monuments. Serena had long grown tired of the whims of her sensationalist supervisor, and become indifferent to Melicia's fantasy beliefs that contained no grounds or proofs.

It would be all too easy for a passer-by to suggest a change of occupation, but not many companies are keen to employ one whose working resume consists of eight years under Madam Melicia, and Serena's excruciating lack of funds required a constant income to support her undying insistence to eat.

This young lady was in the process of considering her current circumstance, when a bizarre sense more commonly described as déjà vu interrupted her musings, and caused the particular expression in which gained the attentions of one Mr Shields not three feet away. Oblivious to the observations of the gentleman, Serena attended to the mutation of her thoughts and attempted to keep up with the pace at which they raced through the mind's eye. The familiarity continued, uninterrupted when the harried waitress returned with her coffee, and she happened to glance upon the midnight eyes of her captivated audience. In the flash of the mentioned act, Serena observed actions that were not in the process of taking place – such of three masked men entering the store with weapons of highly frightening nature – and turned to the door in anticipation.

Thus the apparently common phenomenon of déjà vu had become something more; a premonition of sorts; and our young heroine had the split-second advantage that most probably saved her life.

Disregarding the possible absurdity of her actions, Serena dove to the floor under her table and covered her 'meatballs' as loud blasts, so terrible in their meaning and result, exploded through the bustling shop.

Through the explosions were the screams of the wretched and misfortuned customers, as well as those experiences that any singular individual would relive in future nightmares – blood, bodies, death and wails as loved ones fell victim to the most horrendous of crimes.

Through it all, though, between the morose circumstances, young Serena caught the voices of the despicable creatures committing the violence.

'Don't bother trying to kill him –'

'Take him alive, moron, just grab him –'

Their growls and shouts amid the chaos had some effect upon poor Serena's mind, but one must be forgiven for not paying particular attention to such details in this type of situation.

She did, however, note the rough voices soon became howls and screams, though the gunshots continued; suggesting a turnaround of the wielder of the weapons.

Before Serena could comprehend the meaning behind this event, a sudden change in atmosphere and colour before her determined that someone had knelt down by her table.

Her brain sent signals of recognition of the grey suit and midnight gaze, but nothing was taken into account as the figure lifted her up and carried her swiftly from the store, into the frosty and wet air which now remained the most desirable of the two alternatives.

x x x

Mr Shields maintained to protect his new ward from the unrelenting environment to which he subjected her, covering her from the rain as his footsteps sloshed down a cobbled side street. The pair burst into a new road; naturally the crowds here had no comprehension as to the events that had just taken place not a minute's walk away; but the persistent downpour prevented anyone to take particular notice. Serena was shivering violently, less from the cold than from the shock one endures after such an experience, and was yet fully aware of her current circumstance.

She was unceremoniously unloaded into the passenger seat of a nearby car – Mr Shields would willingly relate the unrewarding action of lugging a stunned fully-grown woman down a street and disposing her into an automobile – and sat back in silence as buildings whizzed past between the dreary sheets of rain.

The window began to fog in much the same way as that in the coffee shop not minutes ago as the heater performed its required task, and Serena seemed to regain her presence.

'Those poor people,' she said, disregarding her own possible hazardous situation in which a strange man drove her to an unknown destination.

'There are of little consequence,' said the driver shortly, and his tone matched the dismissive words so succinctly, Serena turned to look at him.

'How can you say that?' she cried with the distress that Mr Shields had come to expect of all ordinary people.

He did not look at her, instead keeping his cold stare to the front as he guided his sleek ride through the drenched streets.

'When you come to know death as well as I, you will only see it as an inevitability – it either happens today or a short time later.'

'Perhaps you will see it differently when you have lost loved ones to a sudden death,' retorted the lady, earning no reply except a slight furrowing of the brow from her companion. 'Were you not with a friend?' she recalled, struggling to regain her memory.

'Yes, I was,' Mr Shields said with little regret. 'It seems he got shot in the back, but I did not stay to inquire upon his health.'

'You care so little of others' lives, I wonder why you bothered saving mine,' Serena said, fixing her gaze on a point on the windshield.

The wipers cleared the ever-present drops with smooth insistency, yet they did not seem to distract her blank stare.

Mr Shields took advantage of her current state and chanced a glance at the young woman occupying his car. 'It didn't seem like you were ready to die,' he responded, then after a pause added, 'and I was wanting to ask you something.'

While it is imprudent nowadays to be stereotypical upon the fairer sex, Serena Tsukino was but a young woman with little tragedy in her past, and to experience an ordeal of such magnitude as the one from that day is enough to shake even the most modern men. Images of the chaos in the coffee shop played over in her mind, and she displayed the normal emotional attitude expected from her character.

Mr Shields said not a word, but leaned across and unlatched the glove compartment for her, presenting a box of tissues while the shock worked its way through her system.

He remained a most patient gentleman during a situation which causes great discomfort for most men, gliding the car to a stop at a quiet crossroads just out of the city limits.

Once Serena had calmed herself to mere chokes and hiccups, Mr Shields continued with his proposition.

'I was watching you before the incident,' he said, his eyes once again forward and his hands wrapped tensely around the steering wheel. 'You seemed to anticipate the event before it happened – would I be correct in presuming that was the case?'

'You were watching pretty carefully,' stated Serena in dull surprise, her voice suffering from her recent bout.

'I ask you to answer me truthfully,' said Mr Shields, at last turning to look properly upon her. 'If you give me an answer which has no relevance or concern to me, I will let you out here. There is a train station nearby which will take you right back into the city; I'm sure you will find your way safely home.'

'And if my answer concerns you?' pried Serena with growing curiosity.

'We shall discuss that if it comes to it,' replied Mr Shields gravely. 'Now, as you owe me at least your life, please give me your answer.'

Young Serena was taken aback by the audacity of the stranger, but it amused more than frightened her.

'You'll think I'm crazy,' was the warning, but as Mr Shields waited for her to continue, she added, 'it was just a déjà vu – a rather intense déjà vu.'

Mr Shields finally relaxed his vice-like grip on the steering wheel and twisted his lean figure to face his pretty passenger.

'And?' he prompted in a fashion that implied Serena must release the information she was eager to withhold.

'And,' she said with much reluctance, 'it seems it – it may have surpassed natural consistency.'

'Meaning?' Mr Shields said, leaning back casually in order to hide the growing excitement rising in his chest.

Serena pressed her lips together in a manner that provided an endearing character to most people – but Mr Shields was not most people; in fact, he was unlike anyone else existing in the modern day.

'I think,' said Serena, with careful emphasis on her uncertainty, 'I _think_ I may have seen what happened… before it did.'

'Have you experienced anything similar in the past?' Mr Shields inquired with such rapidity that Serena started to wonder most ardently about the strange man.

'Never.' She fervently wished that the unwelcome line of questioning was about to come to a close.

Mr Shields shifted his position within the restrictions of the driver's seat and started the ignition.

'We can work on that,' he muttered, mostly to himself. To Serena, he said, 'Your answer was more relevant than you could possibly understand. You're coming home with me.'

* * *

Congratulations! You actually made it to the end! I'm _very_ impressed!

Since I'm not finishing this, I think it's only fair to tell you that Mr Shields has had his picture painted…

…like Dorian Grey.

Hope you – somewhat – enjoyed this different style of writing. Give it a go, it's SO HARD! Lol.

Love,

Kaitlyn


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